


The Adventures of Mewneto

by xtinethepirate



Series: Kintsugi [3]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles is long-suffering - freeform, Dorks in Love, Erik is basically a person-sized cat anyway - freeform, Family Fluff, Just Add Kittens, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutant Rights, POV Animal, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtinethepirate/pseuds/xtinethepirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One kitten's quest to bring about the downfall of humanity (or at least get some snuggles).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventures of Mewneto

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay! This is the final part of _Kintsugi_ \--thought I should post it before NaNo 2015 starts tomorrow. 
> 
> This section is 100% the fault of ARedHairing. Both of us find way too many lovely cats who have been abandoned, hungry and scared, by their people; after yet another such incident, we decided Erik should adapt his anti-human agenda and make an enormous cat sanctuary in the ruins of a city. This fic was the result.

**The Adventures of Mewneto**

 

He was only a kitten, barely milk-weaned, when they took his mother.

The box had been his whole world for as far back as he could remember, weeks and weeks. Mama had lined the thick cardboard with scraps of blankets and papers, until the cold wind and rain didn’t permeate their home. She’d grabbed him by the scruff and tugged him back into their comfortable nest the first time he’d tried to wriggle out the hole in the side into the world of fascinating smells and colours beyond. She’d warned him about _humans_.

He hadn’t wanted to listen, more interested in exploring than being safe. He was old enough to hunt, or almost was, whatever mama thought; his teeth were sharp enough to deal with any _humans_. He’d almost brought down a whole mouse by himself after all, or at least scared it badly. Despite his mother’s warnings, when his littermates were curled up cozily together and sunlight peeked through the cardboard, he carefully extricated himself to go explore. Though his mother called for him before he was halfway down the alley, he pretended not to hear; instead, he ducked from shadow to shadow, pouncing on scraps of paper and batting at tin can as he imagined hunting down a human. He practiced his snarl, fancying it sounded loud and intimidating in the alley confines.  

He made it to the mouth of the alley, beyond which was sunlight and dizzying smells and a maze of movement. Overwhelmed by the sensation, heart pounding, he scooted back a few steps as a small human, one of their kittens perhaps, detached itself from its herd and came closer. It was big, much bigger than he’d expected up close, even for a kitten; startled, at first he took a few nervous steps back as it reached out a furless paw toward him. But no, he wouldn’t cower like a mouse. Baring his teeth and arching his spine, he hissed a warning to _stay back_.

The human kitten was snatched back by a larger tom, who took a swipe at him with its hind paw. He fluffed his fur out as far as he could and batted at the paw, yowling. The tom spat something in its gutteral human language, but left with its mewling kitten in tow.

When he returned to the box, still puffed up with fear and adrenaline and pride at defending his territory against the strange creature, his mama scolded him firmly for running out in daylight until his ears and tail drooped. Once he was appropriately chastised, however, she purred about how brave he was and licked between his ears until his fur settled and his heart stopped racing, so it wasn’t so bad. Mama hadn’t given them their names yet: they knew their private cluster names from birth, but a name to give to others was only granted once a kitten was old enough to have distinguished himself from his siblings in some way. He was certain mama would give him a strong name, a warrior name.

It was a few days later, when he was drowsing between her and his siblings, that the men came.

Their truck was large and its fumes made his nose hurt and eyes itch, and when the sides of the box were torn open, he was frozen and confused. A big paw came toward him, wrapped in something that muffled its scent under the oily smell of the truck. He hissed and bared his teeth like he had to scare the human kitten and tom, but Mama jumped between him and the paw. She snarled at him to run and lunged for the human. More paws pushed into the box, snatching up his siblings who mewled and squirmed and bit. He flattened his ears and scooted to the back of the box, where there was a tiny hole under the blankets that had been chewed by mice long before they’d made it their home. He squeezed through, and ran, and ran, and tried not to hear the cries of his siblings and his mama.

Later, when he crept back to their home, he found it stomped and flattened. His family was gone.

*

Ororo wasn’t a baby anymore; she knew the rules: if she wanted to go to the real school in town and make friends her own age, she had to stay on the front steps of the school every day at 2:30 until Mr. Lehnsherr came to pick her up. On Thursdays Jean would meet her outside after violin class and would walk her down to the doughnut shop on the corner, so long as they didn’t have coffee (Mr. Lehnsherr’s rule), didn’t spoil their supper (Mr. Lehnsherr’s rule), and brought the Professor home an apple fritter (Professor Xavier’s rule).

There were other rules, too. Most of them were ones she’d learned in class: don’t take candy from strangers, or agree to get into their cars. She knew what the Block Parent sign looked like and that she could always go to a policeman for help. When she’d told Mr. Lehnsherr and Professor Xavier what she’d learned at school, though, Mr. Lehnsherr had said every other girl in her class could probably do that, but she’d be better off calling him than those _rassistische Schweine_. Ororo didn’t know what that meant, but thought Mr. Lehnsherr was probably better at scaring bad guys away than any policeman was, anyway. The one who had come to visit their class had white hair and had offered them candy—mindful of the rules, Ororo had said no thank you—and had smiled a lot. It wasn’t a scary smile at all. Ororo had not been impressed.

Finally, there was the Most Important Rule, the one that none of Ororo’s classmates at her public school had to worry about: don’t use your powers. Professor Xavier had her sit on his lap so they were eye-to-eye to make sure she understood how serious it was. She could use her powers any time she wanted to at the Xavier Institute, but not when she was in school. Since Professor Xavier made them practice with their abilities all the time, and was so proud of their accomplishments, she knew he really, really meant it.

Mr. Lehnsherr had yelled a lot about that rule; Ororo had heard him yelling as she ran down the hallway to tell Jean the good news. The other students at the Institute thought Mr. Lehnsherr was mean, which was baffling to her. Ororo knew what was really true: sure, sometimes Mr. Lehnsherr would get angry about rules or things in the news or the other professors, but never at the students. Besides, he made the best pancakes for breakfast, and sometimes he would even make her hot chocolate (though he was weird and didn’t eat any chocolate, not ever. Ororo had tried his coffee once, and it was gross, but she thought maybe liking bitter things was another mutation). When she couldn’t sleep, he was the best at reading stories, and he would only grumble a little bit when she had a really bad nightmare and snuck into bed with him and Professor Xavier to feel safe.

Since he only pretended to be mean, she knew he wasn’t really and truly mad about the Most Important Rule: he’d yelled about her wanting to go to a human school, too, but after she’d hugged his legs and said _please_ and told him that she really, really wanted to make friends, he’d gotten a funny look on his face like he was sad but trying not to laugh and had said ok. She’d given her word to Professor Xavier, and had never been even a little bit tempted to break it for two whole years.

But.

But today Jason and Christopher had gym last period and were still kicking soccer balls around the field when Ororo came outside to sit on the steps. She watched them mistrustfully as they played, trying to make herself as small as possible on the school steps.

She didn’t like them. They were in fifth grade and bullied all the younger kids. They’d called her a word once that she didn’t know, but when she’d told Professor Xavier, he’d been so angry that, frightened, she had started to cry. Professor Xavier _never_ got angry: that was Mr. Lehnsherr’s job. She had been scared she was in trouble, but instead Mr. Lehnsherr had taken her and Jean out to get ice cream while Professor Xavier had gone to speak with her teacher.

They hadn’t been as mean to her or any of the other second graders after that, but sometimes when they passed in the hallway they would whisper that word at her. She didn’t tell Professor Xavier, though; she didn’t want to make him angry again, and she was a big girl.

  
Jason kicked the ball so hard that it soared across the playground and bounced off the brick wall. He ran after it, sticking his tongue out at Ororo when he saw her. She tried to ignore him, like Professor Xavier had suggested (though she knew how and where to punch them if they didn’t ignore her too, thanks to Mr. Lehnsherr), and kept her eyes fixed on her book when Jason called Christopher over from behind the dumpster.

She knew the rules, and following them was important. Mr. Lehnsherr and Professor Xavier trusted her.

But when she heard the sounds from behind the dumpster, and Jason and Christopher laughing, she forgot all her promises.

*

He couldn’t stay in the alley, not after his mama and brothers and sisters were gone. It was too quiet and empty, and didn’t have enough food. He knew sometimes mama had to stay out for a long time hunting before she could bring food home for them.

More than that, he was _angry_. He wanted to find the men in the truck who had taken his family and claw their furless faces. He’d bite their kittens, too, kick and scratch and kill. His mama had been right: humans were bad. This suspicion was only confirmed when, nameless and alone, he left his alley behind to seek others of his kind. When he found other cats who would speak with him and not drive him off as a stranger, he heard stories of whole litters of kittens drowned, queens turned out of their homes. They told him about being chased by human kittens, or having bottles or objects that burst with loud noises and bright lights thrown at them, and that the kittens would bark in their odd, human way as they attacked. A few of them had even seen The Truck.

Despite these stories and the obvious fear they engendered among the listeners, he entreated his fellows to rise up against the humans. They were hundreds in number in this place alone, and while they might be smaller, their teeth and claws were sharper. He dreamed of a city without humans or cars, a sanctuary where all cats could be safe. Surely their brethren would join and support them in this goal.

For the most part, they laughed at him. He was too thin, too naive, far too young. The toms would cuff him around the ears good-naturedly, and more than one queen pinned him in place with a paw to groom him, muttering over how thin he was and how he should settle down with a cluster and take care of himself.

He didn’t listen. No one would avenge his mama if he gave up now. Instead, he kept moving, crossing through towns and farms, stealing food where he could. Where the humans lived in dense clusters, there were more of his kind, and more who would consider fighting back. None would join him immediately, but offered their support if and when the war began. They were clearly skeptical that a ten-week old kitten could accomplish anything at all. He tried to believe that he would prove them wrong, and that their qualified support would be enough.

He travelled mostly at night, the better to meet his own people and to avoid the notice of the humans he hoped to overthrow. But when something slammed into the side of the metal container into which humans threw their food and under which he was napping, he threw caution to the wind, certain he was being attacked.

With the loudest yowl he could muster, he lunged out from beneath the bin, teeth and claws bared. Two human kittens wielding a round, white and black object were there. They stared at him for a moment, then made the barking sound he’d been warned about, and one threw the round thing at him. He clawed at it wildly as it attacked him, but couldn’t manage to sink his teeth into it. It did its job of distracting him, however, and allowed one of the human kittens to sneak around behind him and strike him with a hind paw. The force of it sent him skittering across the pavement, meowing in shock. His side hurt badly—the humans didn’t need claws to inflict pain. He got to his paws shakily, keeping his tail down and his ears flattened, remembering how brave his mama had been when faced with a human attack.

The next time one of them struck at him, he was ready for it: he dodged the hind-paw and clawed and bit at the stretch of furless hide above. He tasted blood, and the human roared. But he couldn’t attack one without turning his back on the other—that was the cowardice and the strength of humans. He felt a paw grab the scruff of his neck and yank him upward, like his mother had used to do when he’d roughhoused with his litter-mates but not nearly as gentle, and throw him aside. He barely managed to land on his feet, hissing and spitting.

_Mama, mama._ he meowed, trying to be brave for her. He shook his head to clear it, and braced himself for the next attack.

The air changed.

He felt his fur stand on end, his whiskers prickling. He could smell ozone, and could almost see the sparks in the air.

Another kitten ran over to join the other two. At the sight of her, he cringed back against the brick wall, newly afraid. He’d seen humans with dark pelts before, and humans with white fur on their heads, though they were usually older toms and queens instead of kittens. But her eyes were completely white, too, and she didn’t smell right.

What was wrong with the air was coming from her, and he didn’t know how to fight back against it. When lightning suddenly _cracked_ across the cloudless blue sky, he bolted back for the shelter of the container and huddled underneath it, shaking. He could hear the new kitten snarling and growling, interspersed with the loud noises of thunder and lightning. But aside from the terrifying noises, no attack came. Instead, from what he could see of her paws under the lip of the container, she was squaring off against the other kittens.

Maybe it was just another human trick. He knew better than to trust the kindness of men: he’d seen first-hand what they did to his kind. It didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, however, and he slowly crept closer to the edge of the container to watch as the male kittens turned and ran away, still snarling.

He jerked back when the female kitten crouched down outside his shelter. Her gloveless paw reached underneath as though to touch him and, startled, he bit. He heard a mew of pain, but she didn’t try to grab or strike him like other men had. Her hand stayed still. Outside his shelter, it began to rain, and his fur slowly settled back down as the static electricity in the air dissipated.

The strange human said something, and it sounded more like the reassuring chirrups of his mother than the barks and growls he was used to from humans. Cautiously, he sniffed her hand. The wrongness was still there, a not-human smell. Maybe she was different; if her attack on the human kittens was any indication, she could even be an ally. Tense, braced for any sign of violence, he crept out from under the shelter. He cringed at the wetness of the rain on his fur in anticipation of a renewed assault, but she stayed patiently crouched and still. They stared at each other for a few moments, wary, until the not-human chirruped again and opened a pouch in the front of her pelt. He had never understood why humans took their fur off and on like that, and left themselves bare and vulnerable in patches, but he couldn’t deny it was occasionally useful. Up close she smelled warm and friendly, like the nest in which he’d grown up. He leapt for the shelter that pouch offered, curling up and getting comfortable. Her hand snuck into his shelter and he tensed again, but when she rubbed between his ears he felt himself start to purr, rustily, for the first time in weeks.

*

“Ororo!”

Mr. Lehnsherr’s voice distracted her from petting the damp kitten curled up in her hoodie. Guiltily, Ororo jerked her head up. He sounded angry, and she wondered how much time had passed. Her heart was still pounding from chasing away Christopher and Byran and her hand hurt from the kitten’s bite, and now, just as she was calming down enough that the rain was slackening, the sharpness in Mr. Lehnsherr’s voice made her jump, guiltily. He was here and she’d been fighting and had broken the rules, and now he’d find out. And if he knew then he’d tell Professor Xavier and she shouldn’t be allowed to come back again ever. It started to pour again.

With one hand cradled protectively over the furry bulge in her sweater she ran back around to the front of the school, almost colliding with Mr. Lehnsherr as he came around the corner. He caught her by the shoulders, and before she could even start to stammer an apology he knelt down, gripping her arms hard.

“Are you all right?” was the first thing he asked. His hair was plastered flat against his head from the rain, and she hiccuped on a sob and tried to make it stop. She didn’t want him to be angry with her.

“Shh, _Liebling_ , calm down. What happened? Are you hurt?”

Thunder rumbled across the sky and she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she wailed, muffled into his wet shirt. “Please, oh _please_ don’t make me stop coming to school; I won’t do it again, but I couldn’t let them just hurt him, and I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, please?”

“Who was hurting—? Shh, I’m not mad, Ororo, stop crying. Tell me what happened; it’s all right.”

She shook her head and clung to him more tightly, hiding her face in his neck. If she told, he’d be disappointed in her for breaking the rules, and maybe he’d get so mad at Christopher and Jason that he’d break the rules too and then he would also get in trouble. Scott had told her all about him being in prison and that maybe he might go back and it would be all her fault if he did.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, and picked her up. “Come on, we can’t stay outside in the rain. Let’s get you home.” He rubbed her back as he carried her, which helped a bit. She sniffled into his shirt as she tried to calm down, but when they reached the front steps where she had left her bag and books, Ororo blinked hard against fresh tears: they were all soaked through now. Professor Xavier had trusted her with that book, and she’d ruined it. What if she’d been so bad that she wouldn’t even get to stay at the Xavier Institute? She clung more tightly to Mr. Lehnsherr’s neck. He wouldn’t let her leave, surely?

Mr. Lehnsherr bent down to scoop everything up with one free hand with a sigh, then carried her and her belongings over to the car. “You’re going to get the seats all soaking wet, _Liebchen_ ; whatever am I going to do with you? I have enough grey hair as it is.”

He was teasing her, she thought, but she raised her head from his shoulder long enough to check that he was smiling. Sometimes it was hard to tell. “I should probably get some hot chocolate,” she ventured, voice wavering. “So I don’t catch a cold.”

“I think you’re probably right,” he replied seriously, which made her giggle tentatively. A few rays of sunlight started to poke through the clouds.

Though she was big enough to walk all by herself (and heavy enough too, Mr. Lehnsheer would pretend to complain sometimes when she asked for a piggyback ride), he carried her all the way to the car without her needing to ask. He let her climb in and buckle her own seatbelt, though, which was good; Ororo could feel the kitten pressed against her stomach, and she didn’t want to tell Mr. Lehnsherr about him, not yet. She adjusted her seatbelt carefully, and folded her hands to hide the lump in her sweater. He was always telling Professor Xavier they couldn’t get a dog, and joking with Professor McCoy about wet fur. She didn’t think he liked animals very much, and didn’t want him to get upset again, not when they were going to get hot chocolate.

*

He’d gone as still and silent as he could at the sound of the male’s voice; though he didn’t smell _human_ either, it had still been a reminder of the day his mama had been taken. There had been no attack, however, and though the kitten had meowed a bit as though distressed, it did not seem to be due to the not-human tom. Once the kitten settled into place, he closed his eyes, worn out after the fight and the surprise thunderstorm that had come from this strange new species.

The conveyance they were in smelled a bit like the truck that had come into his alley, but not strongly enough to get his hackles up. It moved and hummed and rocked, lulling him. He cracked his eyes open when they stopped briefly, but there were no threatening sounds, just the smell of something milky and sweet handed back to the kitten. Curiosity roused by the smell now that he was warm and drying off, he cautiously poked his nose out of her loose pelt. The kitten cupped her paw around the opening in the pelt, and he batted at it playfully until she let him stick his head out to look around.

Apart from the tasty food-smell that came from the cup she was holding, the vehicle was full of warm smells, living smells, that drowned out the machine scent of metal and oil. They were all slightly _wrong_ , in the way the kitten’s scent has struck him, but not all of them had the same ozone tang.

He looked around, blinking, the tips of his whiskers tingling with new information. The tom in the front seat had a hot smell, like metal that would burn the pads of one’s paws on a summer day. The two other strongest scents were from another tom and another female kitten, and both made his fur rise a bit at the associations they conjured of his nest and his siblings: warm, comforting smells of memory and home.

Worming his way past the kitten’s grasping paw, he managed to get free onto the seat. It gave oddly, and he had to grip it with his claws to feel secure. The kitten hissed at him, but he didn’t pay attention: he was more curious now about the not-human in the front seat. Was he the kitten’s sire? Their pelts were different colours, but the tom had carried and meowed at her comfortingly when she was upset just like his mama used to do, and he’d brought her food. He couldn’t puzzle out their scents, both different from _human_ , but not the same. 

Wobbling a little at the movement of the conveyance, he braced his paws on the centre console, craning his neck up to look at the tom. Perhaps it was his not-human-ness, but he looked more like a cat than a person, all teeth and elegance. Humans, in his admittedly somewhat limited personal experience, were as ungainly as adults as they were as kittens, but this not-human looked poised. He looked dangerous.

With a waggle of his hindquarters (and the assist of the kitten’s paw), he scrambled up onto the console, wanting to get a closer look. The kitten squeaked, and he flicked his tail at her. _Hush_. She was collared into the conveyance, and when she reached out to grab him, he scrambled forward out of her reach.

The big tom was right next to him now, looking straight ahead out of the glass. Just as blind as a human, then, despite the difference in his smell. He couldn’t help but feel a twist of contempt.

As he felt the conveyance start to slow, he crouched down, then launched himself toward the not-human’s arm, quickly scrambling up to his shoulder. The human’s pelt was as slippery as the seats of the machine they were riding in, and he had to dig his claws in hard to climb it.

He was grateful for that additional purchase when, with a startled cry, the tom stopped the vehicle abruptly. He swished his tail in disapproval—he would have thought a not-human who smelled like metal would be better at making this machine work.

The tom grabbed for him with one large, long-fingered paw, and he growled a low, warning sound, stalking across to his other shoulder. He flattened his ears against his skull and bared his teeth as the not-human snatched at him again. If this tom was as catlike as he seemed, he should know to heed the clear aural and visual warnings he was being given: he intended to keep this vantage point, and would not cede it without a fight.

Behind them, the kitten meowed loudly, and the tom paused in reaching for him. He dug his claws in to keep his footing when the tom turned to look at the kitten behind him and growl a few words. He kept his ears pricked up and his claws unsheathed, braced for another attack as he listened to the tonality of their dialogue. He quickly decided there was no further threat to himself for the moment, however; though the tom didn’t smell happy, his growls at the kitten weren’t truly angry, either. Instead, he had the same exasperated tone his mama used to take with him when he first started to sneak out of his box. Whatever the kitten said, it was enough to make the broad shoulders move under his paws as the tom sighed heavily before he started driving again.

He would really have to start learning human language, he realized. Listening to inflection and observing their posture were good steps toward understanding their kind, but if he intended to use these not-humans to further his cause, he would need to know what they were saying, and with whom their sentiments truly lay. 

Satisfied for the moment, he flexed his claws in the smooth pelt and carefully settled down on his shoulder. He could breathe better out here than in the kitten’s pouch, and it was just as comfortable. Listening to the rumbling almost-purr of the tom’s voice, he closed his eyes and let himself drift a bit once again, occasionally blinking his eyes open to check his surroundings.

He opened his eyes again when he realized they were no longer moving, and that he could smell grass and trees. The door next to him was open, and the tom was reaching for him with one paw. He bristled immediately, lips pulling back from his fangs, before realizing that the tom was holding his paw in place, waiting. He lowered his hackles and stretched out to sniff curiously at the offered paw, then dabbed at it with his own, testing. It was very solid. Tentatively, he walked out onto it, turned once in a small circle, and then sat down to groom himself as though he had been completely unconcerned all along about the tom’s intentions. The door was opened and he was lowered down toward the ground, but he affected not to notice. He was content where he was, and the position provided better leverage for an attack than the ground would, should such a thing become necessary.

In defiance of his nonchalant posture, however, the kitten quickly snatched him up and squeezed him a bit too tightly. He wriggled against her grip, looking around as she followed the tom toward what had to be their home. Not-humans apparently built their dwellings on a far grander scale than that of their human brethren. He craned his head back until his neck hurt, but still didn’t feel like he could take in the entire building.

He remembered how, once upon a time, the cardboard box had seemed to be the very limits of the universe to him. Suddenly, he felt very small indeed. He cringed back against the kitten’s solid warmth, and his heart started to race as they walked through the door. He was going into the heart of a human dwelling, even if they weren’t precisely humans themselves. What if he never came out again? Who would avenge his mama then?

Despite his small mews of protest, the kitten set him down on the floor once they were inside the house. The place was full of new smells to investigate, too overwhelming to take in all at once. He pressed against the kitten’s ankles, staying close enough on her heels as she walked that she almost tripped over him a few times. He wouldn’t be separated from the one not-human he knew to be sympathetic to his perspective.

As they walked down a hallway, he pricked his ears forward, trying to take in his surroundings and take in any new dangers that might arise. Ahead of them, he could hear a warm, purring conversation between the tom and a new voice.

He poked his head around the kitten’s hind leg as she paused in a doorway, wanting to see to whom the tom spoke with such affection.

_Oh_.

*

The moment Erik’s car came through the gates, Charles felt his bemused frustration and Ororo’s excitement.  _Oh dear,_ he thought in Erik’s direction.  _Do I want to look?_

He didn’t have to ask, of course—in fact, it was more difficult _to_ ask when already touching Erik’s mind to communicate and the thoughts in question were in the forefront of his mind, especially when Charles had been away from the estate for a few days giving some guest lectures at NYU. But he knew Erik appreciated it, and it was such a small price to ask when he knew Erik would almost always give him permission.

_I think you’d prefer the effect in-person,_ Erik replied. His mind brushed warmly against Charles’s own, affection and contentment flowing from him. _Hello, by the way. Welcome back._

Charles leaned his head against the back of his chair, closing his eyes and smiling to himself. _Hello yourself. It’s good to be home_ , he replied.

Almost before he’d finished the thought, he heard rather swift footsteps come down the hall toward the library. He opened his eyes again, still beaming, as Erik came in, but his smile fell as he took in the sight of him.

“Good lord, Erik, what happened?”

Uncharacteristically, Erik looked rather...rumpled. Given that Charles had previously seen him fight off the combined forces of the American and Russian Navies, escape from prison, drop a stadium on a national monument, and teach Mutant History, German Literature, and Combat Skills to a house full of teenagers without even so much as a hair out of place, it was rather cause for alarm. The leather coat he was wearing had been a Hanukkah present a few years back from Charles, who still had rather nostalgic memories of the one Erik had worn all the time when they’d been young and foolish and Charles had still had all his hair in the 60s. Now, the leather had been scuffed and scratched all up one arm and across the shoulders, his hair was in disarray, and there were scratches on his hands. He was smiling, however, and so Charles tried to relax.

Erik huffed a laugh at his obvious shock. “Hello to you too, Charles,” he said pointedly, and tugged Charles’s chair closer, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Ororo had a bit of an adventure this afternoon. I’ve yet to hear the full story myself.”

“Oh?” Charles inquired, but before he could ask again to rummage around in Erik’s memories, Ororo poked her head around the library door, with the smallest tortoiseshell kitten Charles had ever seen at her heels.

“ _Oh_ ,” he repeated, utterly charmed.

The kitten looked tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand—or Erik’s palm at least—and far, far too thin. It was looking around the room as though bewildered, pressing close against Ororo’s leg as if trying to vanish from sight. Gently, Charles touched his fingers to his temple and reached out toward the alien mind. He couldn’t read animals in the same way, of course, but _curiosity_ and _anxiety_ felt similar enough across species to be broadly recognizable. The kitten immediately whipped its head around to stare at him, and Charles did his best to project feelings of _welcome_ and _safety_.

He could feel Erik’s wry amusement, but ignored him for the moment as the kitten crept hesitantly across the carpet, paused, then leapt up into his lap. Charles lowered his hand from his temple, and the kitten butted his head against it, encouraging Charles to pet him. The poor thing needed a bath; his fur was matted in patches and Charles could feel his ribs and the knobs of his spine. Still, the kitten almost vibrated with a heartfelt, if somewhat rusty, purr, back arching into every stroke.

“Aren’t you beautiful,” Charles murmured, grinning as the kitten circled on his lap, raising his head expectantly for each subsequent pat, until he finally settled down. His paws moved rhythmically against Charles’s thigh, claws flexing. That explained something of Erik’s jacket, then. 

“Don’t, Charles—” Erik started, concerned. And, yes, Charles did have to be careful about damage to his legs, but really, the tiny prick of a kitten’s claws was nothing to fuss over (though he would, of course, indulge Erik’s need to fuss later). The kitten’s eyes were half-closed, and Charles could feel the wash of contentment coming from its mind as well as in the buzz of its purr under his palm. It was a rough and thready purr, as if the kitten hadn’t had much practice with it, and was all the more charming as a consequence.

“Nonsense, Erik, he isn’t going to hurt me at all. Not a beautiful wee lad like this. He’s far too thin—would you be a love, Erik, and fetch him some cream? I’ll get proper cat food the next time we get groceries. We’ll need to feed him up; can’t have a school cat that’s all skin and bones.” A house pet was really something he ought to discuss with Erik first, he knew, but he was already utterly charmed by the poor mite; he couldn’t possibly turn it away now.

“You mean I can keep him?” Ororo shrieked in delight, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

Erik smiled at this enthusiastic display and ruffled her hair. “Are you surprised?” he asked in a long-suffering voice. “Charles has a bad habit of taking in every pathetic stray he comes across.”

“I should be more discerning, I suppose,” Charles replied, glancing up slyly. “I once pulled a rather bedraggled creature out of the Gulf of Mexico, and he immediately latched onto me. He’s followed me around ever since.”

“He’ll follow you upstairs later, if you want to put the kids to bed early,” Erik suggested, covering Ororo’s ears with his hands.

She laughed and tried to twist away, yelling, “He means you! Mr. Lehnsherr, Professor Xavier said you’re a stray!”

“He did,” Erik agreed with her, keeping his eyes on Charles. “How irresponsible of him.” _You should know to keep your pets properly collared and tagged, Charles. Though I think we’d both object to my being neutered._

Charles almost choked, but managed to disguise it behind a cough. Four days had been a very long time indeed not to be in his own bed.

“Why don’t you see if Charles will share his lap with that scrap of cat you brought home, Ororo?” Erik asked. “I’ll go fetch that cream.” The words themselves were innocuous, but he said them with an utterly smug grin that made Charles want to do utterly filthy things to him.

_An early bedtime for everyone is in order tonight,_ Charles thought pointedly in his direction, and heard Erik chuckle as he walked down the hall.

*

Ororo knew that she had to be gentle with Professor Xavier since he’d hurt his back, because she sometimes got too excited and could kick and bruise by accident. So she tried her very, very best to sit still on his lap and pet the kitten gently, but it was hard to behave when she was so happy.

That was ok, though, because the professor could read her mind, and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “It’s all right if you bounce around a bit; I won’t tell Mr. Lehnsherr if you don’t.”

Professor Xavier always had lots of questions about school and her friends, and she told him all about her day. Since Mr. Lehnsherr hadn’t been angry even when the kitten had climbed all over him and Professor Xavier had said the kitten could stay, she wasn’t as scared about telling the professor how she’d broken the rules. She hadn’t really meant to, after all, and it had just been a _little_ bit to protect their new pet. 

She hopped down off Professor Xavier’s lap when Mr. Lehnsherr came back into the room, wanting to show them both how it had happened. Her eyes bright with enthusiasm, slightly breathless in the retelling, she tugged Mr. Lehnsherr over next to Professor Xavier’s chair to pretend that they were Jason and Christopher. The kitten, who had hopped down from the professor’s lap to investigate the bowl of cream Mr. Lehnsherr had brought back up, rumbled grouchily at her when she tried to position him too, so they would just have to pretend.

It was fibbing a little bit to say that she’d made the bolts of lightning flash right next to the bullies when really she’d just been angry and scared and it had just sort of happened. But she was practicing her control, and she knew she _could_ have made it happen if she had tried really hard.

Mr. Lehnsherr laughed at her story and smiled his real smile, the one that showed all his teeth. “That’s my girl,” he said.

Grinning so wide her face hurt, Ororo ran over to hug his legs and be picked up. Mr. Lehnsherr made her practice all the time with her powers, and sometimes it was hard and made her head hurt. But she’d done it and made him proud, and she was so happy she felt she might burst.

Professor Xavier—who helped her with her practice when Mr. Lehnsherr was away or when she was frustrated and upset because her powers didn’t do what she wanted them to—was very quiet, though, when she turned in Mr. Lehnsherr’s arms to smile at him too.

“You know what the rule is about using your powers outside of the grounds, Ororo.”

“I know, but I just—”

“There’s no _‘I just’_ about rules,” he said firmly. He looked sad, which made Ororo’s eyes feel hot. She hadn’t wanted to make him sad; she wanted him to be proud of her like Mr. Lehnsherr was. She didn’t want to leave the school and her friends and her teachers, but what if Professor Xavier made her stop going after all because she’d broken the rules? Her stomach knotted up at the thought, and it hurt.

“I just wanted to help,” she whispered.

“You did help.” Mr. Lehnsherr said, and hugged her a bit more tightly. Now he sounded angry, which was just as bad as Professor Xavier being sad. “A little perspective please, Charles; no one was hurt. You won’t be kicked out of the PTA.”

“Don’t joke about this, Erik. What if one of the boys had been injured?” He looked at Ororo again, seriously. “Don’t cry, darling; I’m not going to take you out of school. But you are going to be grounded, and you will apologize to those boys. Moreover, I need you to promise me that nothing like this will happen again, Ororo. You could have hurt someone very badly; I expect more from you. There are better ways to solve problems than to lash out with your powers.”

She sniffled but nodded, hanging her head. “I’m sorry.”

Around her, Mr. Lehnsherr’s arms tightened. “She shouldn’t need to apologize at all. You know what those cretins are like, Charles; her only fault is poor aim, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, and what a surprise that is. I don’t want this to become more of an incident than it already is, Erik. I hope an apology will be sufficient if it comes quickly. God knows what their parents might say to the school or the newspapers otherwise.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Charles, she’s not a terrorist, she’s eight years old!”

Ororo looked up at him with huge eyes, shocked into silence. He’d said a really bad word. He never said bad words in front of her, but now he’d yelled it at Professor Xavier. Her stomach twisted and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Hadn’t Scott told her that Mr. Lehnsherr had been sent to prison for hurting humans with his powers? Maybe that’s why he was so upset, because she was going to have to go to prison, or Professor Xavier would have to because she was just little and he was the one who had let her go to school and had made her promise to be good.  

“Don’t worry, Erik; I’m sure it’s not for lack of trying on your part.” Professor Xavier was mad now too, but when he reached up to take her out of Mr. Lehnsherr’s arms he was gentle. “Breathe, darling. It’s all right.”

She did, gulping in a deep breath of air that immediately turned into a sob that she muffled into his cardigan. “I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to! Don’t let anyone go to prison, please!”

“What? Ororo, what are you talking about?” She felt his mind touch hers, reading what was wrong, and he pulled her closer. “No, darling, nothing like that will happen, I promise you, not for an accident like this.”

“Wonderful, Charles. Now that you’ve sufficiently terrorized her into thinking using her powers is criminal, perhaps we can discuss these draconian restrictions of yours?”

“And where do you think she learned that people are arrested for assaulting humans?” Charles asked sharply, his hand stilling briefly where he had been rubbing her back. “You may want to have a chat with Scott later; I don’t think he did your exploits justice. Come on now,” he added to Ororo, “let’s get you up to bed, all right? You’ve had a long day, and perhaps could do with a nap before dinner, which I believe Mr. Lehnsherr will be seeing to.”

Upstairs, she only reluctantly crawled into bed after Professor Xavier turned down the blankets for her, but she felt a little bit better once he tucked her in and stroked her hair. “You were very brave this afternoon,” he told her quietly. “And I am proud of you, too. I just worry about you—all of you.”

“I don’t like it when you fight,” she sniffled, reaching out for her well-worn stuffed shark when Professor Xavier picked him up from where he’d fallen on the floor and offered him to her. He’d been a present from Aunty Raven, and was her most favourite toy in the world. “I’m sorry I made you mad. Can we still keep the kitten?”

He smiled. “Sometimes Mr. Lehnsherr and I might argue, but it doesn’t mean we’re angry at you or that we...aren’t still friends, darling. And yes, given how brave you were today—even if I’m not happy about how you went about it—the kitten can stay. We’ll have to think of a name for him.”

She tucked the shark under her chin and smiled, then closed her eyes when he kissed her forehead.

*

The moment he laid eyes on the man in the strange, wheeled chair, he felt more at peace than he had since the day his mother was taken from him. When he walked across the room, he could _feel_ the not-human in his head, welcoming him, and when he jumped up into his lap, he once again smelled that warm, comforting scent of _memory_ and _home_ that he’d first picked up in the car. The not-human’s mind was as warm against his thoughts as his hand was in his fur. He felt...safe. Like he wasn’t alone any more.

The smell of the big tom was on his skin, too, as he arched and purred and staked out his territory on the warmth of his lap. That could be a problem; this not-human was clearly special, and he didn’t intend to compete with the tom for his affections. He watched the tom through slitted eyes as his ears were stroked, purring defiantly. For now, the tom seemed occupied with his kitten, but he would be on his guard. This not-human seemed to be the centre of things in this house—his cooperation would be key if he wanted to secure the support of the not-humans in his mission.

He tried not to let himself be too lulled by the soothing scratch of fingers through his fur, pricking his ears up to listen to their conversation. If he focussed, he could make out the strange syllables of human speech: _Charles_ seemed to be the comfortable not-human whose lap he had claimed; the big, elegant tom, whom he was starting to suspect was Charles’s mate, was _Erik_ ; their enthusiastic kitten, who quickly claimed part of Charles’s lap despite his best efforts, was _Ororo_.

He tried to follow more of their conversation, but the not-humans spoke too quickly for him to pick out more than a few words at a time, and the kitten Ororo’s voice got high when she was excited, and made his ears hurt. Also, and more consequentially, the tom Erik brought up a bowl of cream for him, which was even enough to lure him away from Charles’s lap—he missed rather a lot while frantically gulping down the rich, tasty liquid, the first proper meal he’d had in a long time. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a full belly, and it almost made him want to rub up against Erik’s ankles and purr at him, too.

There was still almost half a bowl left when the atmosphere in the room changed, sending shivers down his spine. He lifted his head, fur bristling reflexively, and lapped the last few drops of cream from his whiskers. For a moment he was confused—he could smell the anger and upset, but Charles and Erik weren’t bristling at each other, their teeth weren’t bared, and their postures were relaxed—but he could hear the snarls and growls in their tones. He didn’t understand this strange, subdued way humans and not-humans argued. No wonder humans were so frustrated and mean-spirited all the time when they could barely communicate.

Charles removed the mewling kitten from the room, leaving Erik hissing at nothing. The tom paced around the room while he watched warily: he didn’t yet know how the not-humans reacted in anger. The metal smell from this not-human was stronger now, and he could feel vibrations in the room through his whiskers. He tried to drink more of his cream (guarding it carefully from Erik’s anger), and mewed in surprise when his bowl shivered too. He stumbled a few steps back, huffing out a startled breath through his nose.

Erik barked that strange, human noise that seemed to indicate amusement. The vibrations in the room abruptly stopped, and Erik sprawled full-length out on the floor next to him, eyes closed. Though his belly was facing up, the kitten didn’t think for a moment it was an expression of trust or vulnerability; not with all the growling and snarling that had happened only minutes before. Without opening his eyes to look at him, Erik started to speak; knowing it was meant for him, the kitten pricked his ears forward curiously. Abandoning his cream with some reluctance, he padded across the small expanse of carpet between them, paused, and hopped up on his chest. He wobbled a bit as Erik breathed in, regained his balance, and stalked forward, leaning in to look at the not-human’s mouth as he spoke again.

“If you’d care to teach me how you charmed Charles so quickly, I’d be willing to learn.”

He considered his options. Though it seemed unwise to be overly friendly with these not-humans until he’d established their willingness to join his cause, if Erik were truly Charles’s mate, he might be able to exercise some influence over him. With that in mind, he head-butted Erik under the chin, wanting to mark the not-human with his scent. Hopefully, the not-human sense of smell wasn’t quite as limited as their vision or posture. 

“You aren’t going to charm _me_ , so don’t even try,” Erik continued, grumbling, but he scratched behind the kitten’s ears regardless.

He purred agreeably in response, butting his head against Erik’s hand. He would let the not-human preserve his delusions.

Though Erik’s broad chest was an acceptable surface on which to rest, he was disappointed when Charles with the inordinately comfortable lap did not return from putting his kitten to bed. Erik seemed to agree, as he heaved a deep sigh that almost knocked him sideways onto the floor. He dug his claws into his chest and hissed in recrimination. The not-human responded by baring his own, rather impressive fangs, and hissing back, making the kitten scamper back a few steps, the fur on his tail bushing out despite himself.

Hmm. He might have to reevaluate this not-human. Wanting to appear nonchalant, he sat down on Erik’s stomach and washed his ears as he considered. Erik seemed almost feline in temperament as well as appearance: perhaps he would be the one to convince of the need to rise up against the humans. He might understand better than Charles would.

One enormous paw scooped him up as Erik rose to his feet. “Come on, you pathetic scrap of fur; let’s see about getting dinner for this madhouse.”

He clung to the front of Erik’s shirt when he moved to set him back down on the floor, and scrambled back up to his shoulder. Given the size of his fangs, he was certain no others in the house would dare attack Erik. It was the safest position from which to evaluate who would be a comrade, and who would be an enemy.

From his vantage point, he noted that the other not-humans who wandered through the food-scented room were, for the most part, either kittens or juveniles. Erik and Charles had established a large cluster here of others like them—given they were both male, he assumed none of the kittens were biologically theirs, but he did not know how not-humans reproduced. They were as affectionate as clutter-mates, however; the kittens in particular pranced around Erik, mewing and huffing amused sounds, and scattering with shrill cries when he snarled at them.

The few adults who came into the room were a bit more stand-offish, but he didn’t scent any aggression on them. A few even came to Erik’s assistance in preparing food for the cluster. Still he kept his eyes warily on them, and turned his nose up at the morsels of food they offered him. He noticed that Erik did not smile or growl playfully at the kittens when the other adults were present, and he would not be swayed so easily by not-humans who put Erik on edge, not unless he determined one of them would better serve his goals.

Scraps from Erik, however, he did accept: the cream had been delicious, but he was still hungry.

He remained on Erik’s shoulders throughout the course of the meal (though it had been a difficult decision to make once Charles came back into the room, his lap open and inviting), hissing softly at anyone who made sudden movements or came closer than he’d like. Charles and Erik and Ororo had fed him and offered him shelter; he would adopt them into his cluster. The others would have to prove to him where their sympathies lay first.

*

Erik looked even more disgruntled than he usually did when sitting at a table surrounded by his fellow teachers and their chatty, bickering, occasionally shrill students. Solitude was something of an ingrained habit with Erik, and he never seemed entirely comfortable at their gatherings—in fact, he avoided them as much as he plausibly could. His sense of being out of place was worse, Charles knew, whenever the two of them fought. Much as Charles tried to keep their personal disagreements wholly separate from the administration of the school, there were times after their fights that Erik wondered how long Charles would let him stay; there were times that Charles feared Erik would leave again, this time for good.

That Erik was not only still in the house, but also subjecting himself apparently of his own volition to the racket of the communal dinner occasionally would be enough to melt Charles’s irritation with him, but he had been determined not to be so easily swayed. He had meant to stay angry with Erik for at least a day, despite the four-day absence and single, insufficient kiss that had preceded this argument. Their disagreement over the students’ public use of their powers was serious and ongoing, but it had never before come to a head like this. Of course Charles wanted them to feel safe to use their abilities wherever they wanted, to be proud of themselves and open about their mutations, but the world they lived in was still full of anti-mutant prejudice. He wanted them above all else to be safe, to be discerning, and the younger students among them needed firm guidelines until they could learn to judge their safety for themselves. Much as he would scoff at the notion, Erik was all too frequently an idealist in these matters: he saw the world the way he wanted it to be rather than how it was, and was willing to defend that vision with force.

It was hard, sometimes, trying to balance their competing perspectives. Even after so many years together, it was still hard. And so it was rather undermining to his sense of self to want to forgive Erik purely so he could drag him up to bed and do to him some of the indecent things he’d been thinking about for his entire train ride back to Westchester. He was an intellectual, not an animal. He was half-convinced that Erik had done this on purpose. Somehow, he’d known that Charles would remain angry at him, and had conspired with the kitten to be ridiculously adorable at Charles. It was utterly calculated and ruthless.

And adorable.

The tiny kitten had taken up residence on Erik’s shoulder and regarded the table with a disdainful expression that was almost a perfect mirror of Erik’s own. Any time a student laughed too boisterously or jostled another, he would hiss even as Erik fixed the transgressor with a pointed glare.

Chin resting on one hand, Charles watched the show. He tried desperately to be irritated rather than charmed, but really, the two of them couldn’t have been more in sync if they’d rehearsed it.

Damn it all.

As Scott and Alex cleared the dishes away, Charles brushed his fingers discreetly against his temple, projecting the general suggestion that it had been rather a long day, and that curling up with a good book or a favourite, quiet, pastime might be a lovely way to spend the evening.

Erik raised his eyebrows at Charles across the length of the table. Charles returned the expression blandly, and finished off his tea.

They weren’t always successful, but had tried their best in the five years since Erik had come home for good not to go to sleep separately, no matter what they argued about. Erik had scoffed at the idea, and there were times when Charles deeply, deeply regretted the suggestion; for the most part, however, waking up with Erik curled around him, no matter how angry they had been at each other the night before, was a good way to remember why they tried to find a compromise. Why they should keep trying.

“You look rather soppy, Charles,” Erik remarked as he walked into the kitchen to make another cup of tea for them both.

“I assure you, it’s entirely for the kitten,” he replied. “You do realize that parrots are the traditional shoulder-dwelling animal? I didn’t realize you were considering a career in piracy, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

They fell into companionable silence as the water boiled and Erik made their tea. He passed their mugs to Charles, stole a quick, chaste kiss—twenty years since they’d first met, and still most of their kisses outside their bedroom were stolen and furtive, an unfortunate necessity when running a school—and then lifted Charles’s chair with his powers, careful not to spill the tea. There was an elevator of course, and so the display was somewhat unnecessary, but it too had become something of a tradition: the slow ascent to their bedroom on the top floor, while Charles checked in telepathically with every student and Erik ensured all the doors were locked and windows closed, Charles safely buoyed up by Erik’s abilities.

The kitten was something of a break in routine. It remained perched on Erik’s shoulder as he walked up the stairs, though it leaned out precariously far to peer down at Charles curiously. A few times Charles was certain it would jump from Erik’s shoulder to his lap, and he shook his head slightly.

_Not now, little one. Be careful._

The kitten sneezed at him, and Erik laughed. “He doesn’t think much of your meddling either, Charles.”

“It isn’t meddling to advise caution, Erik. It’s preventing unnecessary hurt.”

Erik gestured to open the door to Charles’s bedroom—their bedroom, really—and set Charles down again just inside the room. He closed the door and knelt down next to his chair, scooping the kitten off his shoulder to put it down on the floor, even as it wriggled and mewed in apparent irritation.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier,” he said seriously. “I’m sorry.”

There was a point in their history where Erik wouldn’t have apologized, and where Charles wouldn’t have accepted it even if he had. Now, he simply shook his head and handed Erik his mug of tea.

“I shouldn’t have risen to the bait,” he said ruefully. “I know what you’re like.”

Erik smiled and leaned up to kiss him quickly. “You do,” he agreed, standing.

“I just...I wish you wouldn’t make me out to be the bad guy in front of the students, Erik,” he sighed. “You and I might not agree on what the rules ought to be regarding using powers in public, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you support me in enforcing those rules.”

It was Erik’s turn to sigh. He walked around to the far side of the bed (shaking his right leg to dislodge the kitten, who immediately tried to pounce on his shoe) and set his mug down on the side table.

“Of course I’ll support you, Charles, but there needs to be some nuance,” he pointed out, starting to unbutton his shirt. “Is it so terrible that she broke the rules to defend something that couldn’t defend itself? Shouldn’t she be proud of that?”

“I don’t want her to be ashamed of her abilities, Erik,” Charles wheeled himself over to the dresser to get his pyjamas, but held them folded in his lap. “But I am guilty of wanting life to be as easy as possible for her. For all of them. I don’t want any of our children to have the childhood you did.”

Erik snorted softly. “Now her school is run by Nazis? Neither of us like them overmuch, Charles, but that still seems a little extreme.”

“You know what I mean,” Charles replied with a fond smile, drinking in the elegant line of Erik’s bare back as he bent to take off his socks and push the kitten away again.

“I do. Integrationist nonsense.”

There was no heat to the words: they knew this argument as well as they knew each scar and freckle on each other’s skin by now.

“Twenty years ago, she wouldn’t even have been able to attend her school, even if she were baseline,” Charles replied, turning down the blankets on his side of the bed and lifting himself onto the mattress. He undressed as he spoke, deciding to forgo the pyjamas entirely. “Is that integrationist nonsense, too?”

“Not the same, Charles.”

“A decade years ago the public didn’t even know mutants existed, much less accepted them in their schools. We all have to live in this world, Erik, at least until such time that you raze New York City to the ground and establish the world’s largest cat sanctuary in the rubble.”

He smiled as he felt lips graze the nape of his neck, and one of Erik’s arms wrapped around his waist. Leaning back into him, Charles was pleased to discover Erik had opted not to wear pyjamas either. Tonight was looking better and better already.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Erik purred into his ear.

Charles shifted on the bed in order to kiss him properly, humming in approval as Erik immediately moved to straddle him. The moment was, unfortunately, interrupted by a chirruping mew and a soft _thump_ as the kitten launched itself up from the floor onto the mattress, and padded over to investigate.

Erik chuckled against his mouth at Charles’s theatrical groan. “See? I already have an insider.”

*

He had absolutely no intention of sleeping on the draughty floor, not when Erik and Charles had a nest that would be big enough to hold four not-humans. Now that they had apparently stopped fighting, it was time to investigate.

The not-humans were tangled up together in an embrace, having shed their thin pelts on the floor, and he wrinkled his nose at the heavy scent of pheromones. His suspicions about them being mates were apparently correct.

Fortunately, Erik seemed to be in a good mood despite the interruption. While Charles tried to hide his face in Erik’s neck, he looked right at him and grinned his feline grin. Sensing something important was coming, he sat up straight, tail tucked neatly around his paws and ears flicked forward.

“What about it? Will you help me destroy human kind?”

His heart felt so full it might burst. He would help. He understood what had happened, how he’d lost his family, and he would _help_ him.

He scrambled across the bed, butting his head against Erik, purring madly. He walked around them, arching his back and pressing against any skin he could, marking the not-human as his, as family. He would help.

“My God,” Charles breathed, and then started to shake, his huffs of amusement muffled against Erik’s skin. “You found an anti-human kitten. I mean, of course you did, Erik; why would I even find that surprising?”

“Don’t try to pin this on me, Charles, the flea-ridden thing is Ororo’s fault.”

Purring an interrogatory note, the kitten rested his paws on Charles’s thigh and looked up at him. The not-human’s blue eyes were bright with amusement when he raised his head from Erik’s shoulder. “No, no, he’s obviously a kindred spirit of yours,” he gasped, and reached out to rest one paw on the kitten’s head like a benediction.

“I think I’ll call you...Mewneto.”

He went off into peals of laughter again, but Mewneto barely heard it. He had a name now. A name of his own.

“ _Mew_ neto.” Erik repeated flatly. The bed shifted abruptly as he disentangled himself from his mate and lay down facing away from him. Though momentarily torn, lulled by his name-giver scratching behind his ears, Mewneto followed suit. Erik had just pledged his allegiance to the cause, after all. He leapt up onto Erik’s side and hopped down on the far side of him again, curling up against his stomach and closing his eyes.

“Oh, I am sorry, Erik,” Charles said, though his tone was not at all contrite. “Would you prefer Magnetmew? Or Lehnshpurr? Purrik Lehnshpurr?”

He drifted off as his not-humans bickered. They were ill-trained, but they was his family now. He wouldn’t have to be alone ever again.

*

(Three years later, when Mewneto still hadn’t managed to bring about the destruction of humanity, he couldn’t bring himself to be too upset about it. He grumbled sometimes to Professor Xavipurr, the second cat to join their household, but Xavipurr had a way of blinking at him slowly and tugging him close to groom his fur that made him forget everything else.)


End file.
